


kiss me on the lips and set me free (but please don't bite)

by theGirlNightwing



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (consensual tho), Alternate Universe - College/University, Asphyxiation, Comeplay, Cunnilingus, Derogatory Language, Dom/sub, Domme Eliza, F/M, Hair-pulling, Name-Calling, Post-Coital Cuddling, Punishment, Rough Sex, Slut Shaming, i Never write straight things but here we are, i really needed domme eliza okay, she's really mean to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theGirlNightwing/pseuds/theGirlNightwing
Summary: “Can’t tell me what to do,” he says, breathless. Hoarse. Still defiant, but she can hear the arousal. She smiles. Point: Alex, 0. Eliza, 1. She walks a little faster. “Can’t find me, honey,” he says, egging her on.He hangs up.“That little shit,” she says to the air again. A passing couple give her a scandalized look, but she ignores them.**Eliza and Alex have something special - though not appropriate for public discussion. She takes control for a precious few minutes, helps him unwind, helps him tear himself down and put himself back together. He gives her a punching bag for her frustrations.





	kiss me on the lips and set me free (but please don't bite)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashilrak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/gifts).



> yoooooo i never write straight things  
> but the fandom was lacking in Good Eliza Things and I Love Her A Lot so.  
> enjoy, i suppose. lmk what u think  
> (title from bite by troye sivan. i had no other title ideas hahaaa)
> 
> FOR KARLI BC SHE ENCOURAGED ME TO FINISH THIS AND I WOULDN'T HAVE IF SHE HADN'T.  
> ALSO BC SHE'S AN AMAZING AND WONDERFUL HUMAN BEING WHO DESERVES THE WORLD

Alex texts her one night, out of the blue. It’s 2am and her phone buzzes, lights up. She squints, flails her arm and slams it down onto the phone, expecting an alarm clock. 

It buzzes again and she groans, rolls over and tries to hide her face.

It buzzes again. 

“Fuck, who the hell?” She groans, and picks it up, squinting at the small blue screen. It’s Alex. 

Of course it’s Alex. Who else would be awake at 2am on a Monday night?

_ A Ham Man _

2:00 hey hey eliza

2:01 r u awake

2:03 i have an itch

She rubs her eyes, and frowns at the screen. What? Her sleep-addled brain doesn’t help, giving her the mental equivalent to  _??? _ instead of an answer. 

She shifts through events of the previous day, trying to figure out what he could mean, and stumbles upon a particular memory. Her looping her scarf around his neck, tugging him closer and dodging his face as he trips, falls on her. “Hey,” He says, laughing, and she pushes him back up to standing with a giggle. But he trips forward again. She tries to push him back to standing but he pulls back too and they overbalance and.

She lands on top of him, immediately conscious of how close their faces are. Her nose is almost touching his, and she can feel his breath hit her lips. She licks them, reflex. His eyes draw down to the movement, and she scrambles off him. “Uh,” She says. 

He makes a face, and holds up a hand for her to take. 

“Is this the sex thing?” She asks out loud to the room at large. No one answers, because it’s fucking two in the morning and normal people are asleep. And, well, no one lives in her room besides her. She digresses.

Okay, Alex is kind of a hoe. Everyone knows that. So, yeah. Probably the sex thing. 

“I need a constant dom,” he’d said, when they were giggling in her closet, younger. Sixteen. “I’ve been sleeping with so many guys it all blurs and i need control taken away from me, y’know?”

“Not really,” she’d replied. “I don’t need that.”

“But you get. You understand. I’m reaching the end of my rope and I need someone to take that noose and make it a leash because that’s the best anyone can do.”

“Yeah,” she’d said. She’d been staring at him since he was, of course, undeniably attractive, even then. Their high school had a uniform - blazer and tie for guys. His tie is green, forest green. She thinks about nooses and wonders if that counts. 

“I’m glad,” he’d said, and lunged over to launch a tickle attack. She shrieked, rolled away. 

“Fuck off!” She’d said, laughing. She’d batted him away and his eyes zeroed in on her hands.

The phone darkens, a sign it’s about to sleep. She taps it to stop it. She calls him instead of answering the text. 

He picks up, but doesn’t speak. 

He definitely knows she understood his meaning. He wouldn’t have picked up if he didn’t think it was the most likely possibility. It’s 2am. She doesn’t make calls at 2am.

“Itch?” She says. There’s an inflection in there she can’t name. And confidence. She knows what he’s trying to say. Waiting for him to admit it.  _ Use your words. _

There’s a groan, a sound of flesh on flesh and skin on skin and she knows what he’s doing immediately. “Are you  _ jacking off?”  _ She asks, incredulous. It’s the sex thing. He couldn’t say it. Had to be the writer he is, all show no tell, it’s useful in most cases, but  _ this? _

“Say it again,” He says, taunts. “So offended. Whatcha gonna do to me, honey?” 

“You really want to test me?” She asks. “Where are you?” 

“Not gonna tell you,” He says smugly. She pushes off the covers, slips out of bed, and one-handedly pulls on pants. Her shirt is a T-shirt. Acceptable for public use. She’s been to his dorm room before, and if he’s not there she’ll just wait until he gets back. His roommate’s never there, and if he’s jacking off on the phone, well. It’s loud enough to wake anyone really. 

“Tell me now, and maybe you’ll escape punishment.” She roots around for her keys, jangles them near the speaker of her phone. He sucks in a breath audibly. She grins. “Or is that what you’re looking for?”

He moans, and the noises get faster, louder. “You can’t stop me,” he says. 

“If you come before I get there,” she says. Hesitates. “You won’t like what I’ll do to you.” 

“Try me,” he breathes, and then he cries out, just as she locks her door. She’s bundled in a scarf and jacket and hat and she bites her lip, feeling arousal flush down into her crotch. His little moans as she begins walking quickly just make the rub between her legs a little worse, and she curses him for it internally. 

Outwardly, though, she makes a disappointed noise. “When I reach you I want you naked, legs spread, at least three fingers up your ass.” She didn’t bring things. He probably has them, though, and if he doesn’t she can use her fingers.  

“Can’t tell me what to do,” he says, breathless. Hoarse. Still defiant, but she can hear the arousal. She smiles. Point: Alex, 0. Eliza, 1. She walks a little faster. “Can’t find me, honey,” he says, egging her on.

He hangs up.

“That little shit,” she says to the air again. A passing couple give her a scandalized look, but she ignores them. 

She reaches his dorm not a minute later, keys into the building. She’s been to his dorm room before, knows exactly which room it is and how to pick the lock. 

It’s not locked. 

She closes the door behind her quietly, fixes the lock situation, and turns to him. He’s sitting at his desk, back to her, tense. Rigid. Typing at the computer.

She has a brief moment of uncertainty - maybe he didn’t intend for this? - but it’s abolished when she sees his open bottom drawer. Reassurance. 

Also, she was right. He  _ does  _ have things.

“I thought I told you to do something,” she says. She sheds her layers until she’s back in jeans and the t-shirt, and suddenly feels as if she should maybe be wearing something different. A leather catsuit, perhaps.

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Mm,” she hums. Walks forward, rests her hands on his shoulders. His muscles are knotted. He hasn’t relaxed since last year, probably. She digs her thumbs into them, smile flickering across her face at the immediate groan he lets out. She pushes her fingers in circles, rubbing out the ever present tension. 

“Your word?” She asks.

“Hurricane,” he says. 

“And if you can’t speak?”

“Four taps,” he says. “Your thigh if I can reach.”

“Good boy,” she praises. “Now. Close your computer and stand.”

“I’m working on an essay,” he says. He’s always working on a goddamn essay. Freelance, school, newspaper, journal, blog. Even a retort to a local farmer, once.  _ Farmer Refuted. _ He had called Eliza the minute it went viral, whimpered, and she was out the door in a second. She still doesn’t know if he actually fucked the farmer or if it was just coincidental timing. 

“When’s it due?”

“Thursday.”

“You have four days, brat,” she says. “Stand up.”

“Make me.”

Eliza sighs, moves around him to perch on the desk. She has to shove off a sheaf of papers to do so, smirks when he makes a noise like a wounded animal. His desk is always messy, of course, just like his room. And his life. Loose papers and binders and pencils everywhere, with an occasional trinket. There’s a framed picture of the two of them sitting there, as well as one of Alex and Jefferson yelling at each other. She never understood that. Everytime she asks why he has it, he kind of half-shrugs, says, “he has one too.” There’s a polaroid somewhere in the wreckage, unframed, of him, Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan at a bar. They’re all laughing uproariously - except for Mulligan, who scowls. Laurens had just given Mulligan an “I <3 horses” T-shirt, and Mulligan was not amused. Eliza took the picture. She supposes there’s some sentiment in it, but she was really just testing the film - didn’t even mean to aim the lens at them.

“You’re really wound up, huh.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, instead sticking out his tongue and blowing a raspberry. God, he can be immature. Eliza doesn’t know if she loves or hates that in him, though she supposes with their relationship it’s very much both. 

“Ri-ight,” Eliza says, drawing out the vowel. She thinks over what she’s going to say, what his response will be. To win a verbal fight with Alex, you either fight dirty or look farther ahead than he does. She chooses to do both, unlike most. Though most don’t have the fighting dirty option. “Use your words, Alex. You woke me up, when you texted me. You know I don’t like to be woken up.”

“I let Jefferson fuck me again,” Alex blurts. His eyes cast down to his bare feet, but he’s far from submissive. Eliza sees the slight shake as he bounces his knee. Restless. Tonight will be… satisfying, at least. “And, uh, John.”

“At the same time?” Eliza asks. She raises her eyebrows, snorts when he mumbles  _ uh-uh. _ Nervous, defensive. He wants insults. Wants her to hurt him. He’s always prideful of his ability to please in the bedroom, and the way his words arouse emotion. Anything else barely matters to him when he’s this far along. Hit him where it stings, yeah? “‘Course. Can barely take one dick, weak as you are.”

Alex smiles at her, all teeth. He looks kind of feral, like a wolf raising its hackles. “Honey, I’m so far from weak.”

She allows her lips to twitch. “Mm.” 

“Don’t believe me?”

“I find it difficult. What if I call them? Sit back and watch as they take you apart, stuff you full until you feel like you’ll burst. I can do that.” She waggles her phone in front of his face. She won’t do it. He knows.

He looks at her straight on, laughs. “You won’t do it.” He bites his bottom lip, flutters his eyelashes in a way he thinks is seductive. It  _ is  _ seductive, but Eliza isn’t game enough to admit that. Everything he does is fucking seductive, he has their entire school wrapped around his pinky finger. James Monroe hates him more than anyone else, and even he would lick Alex’s goddamn shoe if he asked. “You hate sharing me.”

“It’s not sharing if I don’t participate,” she says. She’d make exceptions, of course. Not that she’d tell him that. “I have fingers and toys, baby. Don’t need you and your tiny cock.”

He laughs so hard his head hits the back of his chair. “Honey, the way you keep crawling back to me -”

“ _ I’m  _ crawling?” She taps her finger on her cheek, looks down at him. Disdain. “Sure, brat.” 

“Ran across campus for me to fuck you,” Alex says. He looks so pleased with himself, like a dog following its owner’s command to roll over. Eliza wholeheartedly expects him to demand a treat, though she supposes a good fuck is treat enough for him. She casts a glance around.

There’s two beds in the room, neither occupied. (Thank God). The ever elusive Burr, not in the room at this god-awful hour of morning? What a surprise. He’s been brought up in their conversations before - even their friends mention him from time to time. She’s never seen him, though, even with how often Alex begs hours from her. “You kick your roommate out to fuck me?” She asks. “Was he even awake when you did it? Did you drag him outside and slam the door to wake him?” 

“Maybe,” Alex pouts. “Didn’t walk across a snowy campus, though.”

“And I didn’t send a booty call text at two in the morning, brat. You know I’m right. Anything you say, I can refute. Anything you can do, I can do better.”

“Except be a whore,” Alex says. He gives a dirty smirk. “I’m a better whore, Betsy. Can’t beat that.”

“Can, actually,” she says. Tilts her head, eyes twinkling. “When you beg me to.”

He doesn’t show any inclination of moving, but does shift a bit. Has to adjust himself in his pants, which are starting to tent, showing what effect she has on him. “‘M not begging.”

She rolls her eyes, picks up the laptop before he lurches forward to stop her. It’s the only thing she can think of - he’s being stubborn this time, won’t move on his own, and scrawny as he is Eliza still can’t physically carry him anywhere. So. She must resort to threats. (Not that she has a problem with that.)

“Liza -”

“Get on the bed, Hamilton. You know I’ll throw it out the window.” Eliza’s made few empty threats in her life, and they’re usually related to bringing others into their… whatever it is. This, Alex knows well, isn’t a bluff. She’s thrown his phone out the window of a moving car before. Girl doesn’t play around when you piss her off. It’s one of the many, many things Alex is attracted to in her. 

“Going,” he says, still not moving. “Please put it down.”

Her hand inches closer to the window, and he scrambles off his seat. The chair tips back as he does, and he narrowly avoids collision with the floor. “Clumsy,” she mocks. “C’mon Hamilton, get on the fucking bed.” She twists the handle locking the window, shoves it up with one hand, dangles the laptop precariously close. She feels no remorse for his work. He’s got it backed up somewhere, and even if he doesn’t, he’s had to recover from a computer virus that wiped  _ everything _ , including the stuff he thought he backed to the cloud. If he can do that, he’ll be fine.

“I’m there, Liza, please don’t -” he practically launches himself across the room and onto his bed. “Put it down.”

She waits, eyebrow raised. 

“Please, Liza, put it down.”

Her hand dips, faux fatigue from the weight of the thing. She sighs, sits back. “We-ell?”

“I don’t know what you - please, Liza, what do you want?”

She sighs again, as if undergoing some tedious process. “Do I need to tell you again, brat? What did I ask for?”

“You wanted me to get on the bed, Liza, I’m  _ on the bed _ -” he halts mid sentence as her eyes flick to his phone. Lying innocuously on his bedside table. He follows the gaze, sees. Considers.

Well, she did ask.

She inches her hand back when he takes off his shirt, closes the window when he takes off his pants. It’s almost like a give-and-take, he gets closer to where she told him to be, she gets farther from dropping his precious work out the window and onto cold, hard concrete. An even trade, she’s sure.

She sets the computer down when he lies on the bed, thighs spread, feet planted, knees in the air. Sides off the desk when he uncaps the lube. Kicks her own jeans off when his first finger slides in and curses when she kneels to pull off her socks and underwear. But then he’s got the finger completely submerged, pushing it in and out, a practiced motion. She forgets the clothes on the floor in favor of moving forward, and  _ faster. _

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs. Her shirt comes off next, and she reaches up to pinch and roll her nipples, watching as Alex pushes in a second finger. Alex knows he’s pretty, revels in it. He’s got sleepy eyes, bedroom eyes, and a pretty pink mouth with a tongue that sticks out a bit when he concentrates. He doesn’t quite have Lafayette’s muscle mass, or Laurens’, or Mulligan’s, but he isn’t exactly pudgy. Once he joked that Eliza’s type is “skinny boys”, made a quip that at least he isn’t white because skinny white boys are the absolute  _ worst _ . He went on to complain about how long Adams lasted in bed, said he didn’t even lend a hand for Alex’s own boner, Alex had to go find someone else and the first person he ran into in the halls was Washington - which would’ve been fine, but the first thing Washington said was  _ son, I think I’m going to quit my job _ \- and Alex’s erection just fucking  _ wilted _ .  _ Robbed, _ Alex complained.  _ All I wanted was an orgasm, Lizzy. All Adams had to do was put his hand around my dick, I would’ve been satisfied with that. _

He is certainly a pretty sight, Eliza thinks. She wonders if she could get away with snapping a picture. Cheeks dusted red, eyes heated. Little pink hole clenching around his fingers. Cock fully erect and flushed. He doesn’t squirm - though it’s only barely - until the fourth. She makes sure to grab one of his toys as he’s distracted, bringing it with her as she heads to the bed. “Sloppy boy,” she teases, settles herself between his legs. She knocks away his hand, slips one finger through the mess there and curls her fingers daintily around his dick. Not enough to feel good, but enough for him to feel it. Feather-light. “Whose come is this?”

“Jefferson,” Alex chokes. Eliza squeezes lightly, encouraging him to continue. “John used a, uh, condom.” 

“He use Jefferson’s come as lube?” Eliza asks, amused. 

Alex answering moan is enough.

“Did he  _ know  _ it was Jefferson?” She doubts it. Laurens has a deep-set loathing for Jefferson that she can’t fathom - sure the man’s a bit… off… but even Alex doesn’t completely hate him. She supposes it could be valid, though, as the two had grown up in the same social circles. Their parents had even almost arranged them to be married.

“Thought it was Laf,” Alex says. “I didn’t correct him.” 

“Naughty.” Laurens will be pissed, if he ever finds out. Not that Eliza intends to tell him - Alex will do that on his own, soon enough. He’s always a glutton for punishment, and Laurens has always had that kind of wild quality. Bloodlust. Eliza can relate, almost. What they have is not quite the same, but. They bond.

“You love it.”

She laughs, holds her finger out for Alex to lick. “Does hours-old come taste as good?” She asks. It’s half a serious question, cos she’s actually kind of curious, but also teasing. 

He takes her finger down, sucks and hollows his cheeks, making obscene noises as he tongues every little drop off. She almost wishes she had a cock, just to see what that kind of action would feel like. “Mm, no,” he says when she withdraws. “Fresh off, straight down your throat. That’s what you want.”

“Pity I can’t give it to you,” she says.  _ Pity. _

Alex shrugs. “What you give me’s better, anyway. You gonna fuck me, or what?”

“You were a brat earlier, mm? You think you deserve to be fucked?”

“I think you want it,” Alex says, pushing his hips up in a parody of a thrust. His dick is still in her hand, so when he lowers it’s almost as if she’s stroking him. She wonders if he planned that or just meant to make a gesture. 

“Do you?” She asks. “ _ I  _ think you need to use that little brain of yours to think better. You’re smart, baby. Think realistically.” And yeah, he’s smart. He’s right. But does that mean she admits it? Hell no. He’s fun to play with, especially when you deny him what he wants. His forehead scrunches up all cute and he looks adorably confused, as if unaware of any reason he’d be refused. 

“Lizzy,” he says. He knows what he wants, doesn’t bother with confusion, cos he knows why she’s being difficult and knows what to say to make her break but she doesn’t think she will, this time. “Lizzy Lizzy Lizzy my love, I’m begging you. Fuck me.”

She shoves her tongue at her cheek, stares at him. Considers it, like she really would say no and mean it. “Nah.”

He whines, then makes a better noise when she withdraws her hand. “C’mon, honey, scared of it?” And ooh, he’s really aching for it now. He calls her honey when she calls him brat and it’s kind of hilarious since she’s far from sweet while he’s pushing feral. Bloodlust, like Laurens. She keeps her face blank, manages neutral while he tries to tease out a reaction.  

“Hardly,” she says. “There’s nothing there to be scared of.”

He moans, returns his fingers to his ass, shoves them in and out mercilessly. He looks achingly hard, and she wants to touch him, but he’s been bad and she is  _ not _ nice to little brats. That would encourage their bad behavior, no? 

“Crusted up come feel good in there?” She asks. He likes it, likes being a cumdump, marked and used and claimed by others. Having his control taken from him in one of the most base actions. Makes him feel useful, for some godforsaken reason. She never understood it. 

“Yes, fuck, feel so used and guh -  _ good _ , feels so -”

And there’s the break.

She grabs his hair before he finishes, uses the leverage his surprise gives her to yank him off the bed and facedown onto the floor. She stomps on his shoulder when he tries to get up, rests her foot on his back. “You’re not allowed to feel good, baby,” she says. Shark’s grin, again, and he shudders. “Not now.” 

The carpet digs into his cheek and she can see marks there already when he lifts his head to whine, “But Liza -”

“I don’t have time to clean you out and I don’t have time to wait, so it’ll have to stay,” she muses. “Remember baby, you aren’t theirs. This come? Means nothing. You’re mine, baby, all mine. Remember you said I don’t like to share? I see you like this and sometimes I wonder if you do it to rile me up before I remember how much you like to be owned.” She crouches, spreads lube over the toy, somewhere between a dildo and buttplug. Small dildo, big buttplug. She doesn’t really know. Hasn’t spent a lot of time looking at it. “Spread your ass, baby.”

He grumbles as he does it, but does it nonetheless. “Wanna eat me out, Lizzy?” It’s certainly one option, a way of cleaning him. But why not let him get his rocks off to Jefferson’s come inside him while she works him up? She doesn’t wanna taste anyone else’s jizz anyway.

“Disgusting,” she sniffs instead of voicing any of that, digs her heel into his back as she begins to work the toy inside him. It doesn’t take much. “So loose, brat. They really did a number on you.”

“And I loved it,” he says. 

“I’m sure. That’s why you came running to me, mm?”

“You fuck me up best,” Alex says.

She straightens, satisfied with the way the toy sits. Kicks his side, nudges him over with her toe. “Still good?” She asks. Always have to check. He’s never safe-worded before, but.

He bares his teeth, twists so he can reach her leg, reaches up and pushes a knuckle up against her folds, letting it almost slip in. “Fuck me up, Liza.”

There’s a moan that nearly slips unbidden past her lips. She cuts it off with a cough, but he doesn’t notice, thankfully. He hasn’t stopped talking past that, prattling on about how good he can be, how he can fill her up with his dick, make her feel so  _ goddamn good _ . “Do you ever shut up?” 

“Not for you, baby.”

She rolls her eyes, straddles his head. “Make good on that promise,” she says, a glint in her eyes. There’s a threat to her words, implicit, but he reads it. She wonders how far she can take his confidence until it snaps in half. “Make me feel like a fucking goddess, brat.” A little bit of panic flickers over his face, before he closes his eyes in acceptance. 

Alex, contrary to what everyone thinks, isn’t good with his mouth at all.

Words come easy to him, and he can form and spit them for hours, wrap his tongue and mind around concepts his opponents can’t even dream of. He speaks like he thinks, and fast. Can rip into anyone - friend or foe - and still have more ammo when they drop, defeated, torn apart with issues running to the bone. He’ll twist your words back on you, make you think his idea is your own. But putting his mouth to actual, physical use?

Eliza’s had better.

He prods at her with his tongue, licks around her clit, reaches a hand up to assist but she smacks it down. “Just your mouth,” she instructs. He whines against her and she makes an  _ uh  _ noise because of it. She can feel his smile, so she grinds down on his mouth in retaliation, reaches forward and grabs a fistfull of his hair, pulls him up and urges his tongue further inside her. “If I feel teeth,” she warns, letting the threat hang. It’s better that way. Let his imagination run wild with the possibilities.

He pushes back, sucks on her clit. She keeps back her noises, refusing to let him get cocky. He knows he’s bad at giving head, eating her out. He does try - credit where credit is due. But he doesn’t try hard enough. There’s a suggestion at the tip of her tongue -  _ have you heard of predicament bondage? _ \- tie him up, force him to kneel, rice under his knees. Nipple clamps, and a chain that she can anchor to her chair as she sits in front of him - he can eat her out to her satisfaction or pull on the clamps. Perhaps swap her own bits for a dildo, make him deepthroat it until his voice goes hoarse. Repeat until he learns - and  _ oh _ , he  _ will _ . 

She’s almost stopped paying attention when she feels a slight edge of something against her clit. 

“Ooh,” Eliza says. She pulls tighter on his hair, pinches his nose. “Baby, baby, baby.” No teeth, she said. One explicit instruction.  _ No teeth. _ And what does he do?  _ Teeth. _

He struggles a little, gasps around her, sucking in a small amount of air, but it’s not enough. She grinds down more, cutting him off further. His beard scratches her folds, the skin between where his tongue is working and her thighs. It almost feels good. She wonders what he’d do if she shaved it off.  _ Peach fuzz, _ Angelica told her when she first met him.  _ Can’t even grow it, ha! What’ll you do with a man like that?  _ She’d shrugged.  _ We’re only friends, _ she told her sister.  _ Sure, _ Angelica said.  _ Whatever you say. _ It’s kind of irritating to know she was right. They never really were  _ just friends _ , after all. “What did I say, baby? No teeth. And yet, we’re here.”

He whimpers, struggles against her, but she’s got him locked down onto the floor, relentless. Caged down. She kind of regrets pushing him to the floor, cos the carpet’s leaving imprints on her knees. 

“Make me feel good baby, and maybe I’ll let you breathe.”

He obeys, licking up into her and mouthing at her folds. He’s shaking as he does it, though, and his hands come up sometimes, reaching as if to push her off, before he forces them down. She can feel a little drool drip down his face, along her thigh, and shakes off a shudder. 

“Good boy,” she coos. She’s getting wetter, though it’s mostly from the power she’s holding over him, rather than the ministrations he’s attempting to give. “Come on, baby. My orgasm’s more important than your continued survival.” 

His eyes glisten, though whether it’s tears or from the asphyxiation, she doesn’t know. His tongue gets more feeble and his eyes droop shut. He’s losing breath. Still hasn’t tapped out, but she knows him. He won’t tap out until he literally passes out. Too prideful to admit he can’t do it. So she sets her jaw, pretends not to care as she waits until the last possible second.

“Weak,” she says, and lets go of his nose. He gasps the breath the best he can with her still sitting on his face, nostrils flaring as he draws in as much as as he can. She shifts off him, uses his hair to pull him into a vague sitting position. He moans, but goes with the motion, limp. Like a doll. The fight’s mostly drained out of him, then.

Remains of her arousal are slathered over his chin, mixing with his saliva and dripping off onto his shirt. Lips shiny red and swollen, jaw hanging open as he pants. His gaze is unfocused and glazed over as he stares at her, and he lets out throaty noises when she adjusts her grip on his hair. He’s a goddamn mess. Eliza feels a hot rush downwards when she sees what she did to him. 

“You did good, baby,” she says softly, knocking back the harshness a little. She cradles his head as she lets him back down to a prone state, reaches to the bedside table. He has to gesture vaguely at the second drawer before she finds the lube and condoms. She slicks up his dick, rolls on a condom, hovers over him, foregoing anymore attempts to push him anywhere he doesn’t wanna go. She says, “ready?” because she’s dripping at this point, impatient.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, and she taps his nose. “I need a yes, baby.”

“Yes, yes yes yes yes yes,” he says, slurred. “Liza… Betsy - yes.”

She sinks down, throws her head back at the feeling. For all the crap she’d given him for having a small dick, he’s certainly thick enough and long enough to please. Not exactly above average, but enough.  _ Can I be enough? _ Seems like it, the amount of times he’s called her to help tear him down in order to piece him back together. 

“Want me to ride you, baby? Wanna feel me slip up and down, clench around you and draw out your come?” She rolls her hips, pushes a hand on his chest for leverage as she brings herself up, then down. She hasn’t ridden him in a while - last few times she used a strap on, let him finger her to her climax - can’t imagine that he’s fucked anyone they know, since they all lord their dom-ness over him. He must be aching for it. For a while he would beg her,  _ today, Liza? Please? _ and she would always say no. Denial’s good for him.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Liza, oh my god, Lizzy… I’m close, Liza, please…”

“Not yet,” she says, and leans forward, kisses his nose. Sweet. She’s usually not that sweet. His hands land of her hips, slide up, touch her breasts. She didn’t tell him he could do that, but she’ll let it slide for now. He pinches her nipples, so she pushes his head further down her body, stretches up to help, and he takes the hint. He sucks along her breast, moans as she moves, as she yanks his hair, pushes the toy deeper inside him with a knuckle. “So good for me baby,” she whispers, combing nails over his scalp. “So good.”

“Please,” he says into her skin. “ _ Please _ .”

“Come for me,” she says. She pulls back his hair, bites his collarbone. “Come for me, baby.”

He doesn’t quite scream when he orgasms, but it’s a close thing. “Liza, Liza Liza -” She grips his hair tighter, nearing the edge.

“Alex,” she groans, and then she’s seeing stars. Whenever she’s with him it’s always so intense - hot and cold and warm all over as pleasure spreads through her body in bursts, traveling along nerves that shake and bones that creak and muscles that tense-and-release. Sex is called a flesh need but it’s a heart need, really, as her blood pumps faster and rushes with a purpose down down down south. Meanwhile Alex’s orgasm shudders through his body, as his muscles spasm and then he’s finally lying silent. It takes a lot to get him there, but  _ hell _ if it isn’t worth it. 

“Shit,” she says, minutes later, taking in air as her head clears and they both come back to earth, panting, tangled together on the floor.

It takes another few for either of them to speak anything more than occasional muttered expletives. 

“I think I have rug burn,” Alex says suddenly, lifting his shoulder and inspecting his back as best he can.

She snorts, swatting him. “ _ That’s _ what you’re worried about?”

He shrugs. “I mean, my lungs seem fine, so.” Yeah, the choking-him-on-her-literal-vagina  _ may _ have been a bit much. They both liked it, though. No ragrets, right?

She sighs and pushes off of him, hand on his chest. He kind of “ _ oomph _ ”s, but she ignores it in order to take the condom off him and tie it. “You need anything else?”

“Cuddle me,” Alex pouts.  _ He’s ridiculous _ , Eliza thinks.  _ What even. _

She groans instead of voicing this, sticks out a hand for him to take because god knows he won’t be able to get up on his own. “You call me, wake me at two in the fucking morning for a booty call, and expect me to actually stay with you?”

“Technically, you called me.” He takes the hand, leverages himself up. 

She only doesn’t throw her hands in the air because she’s holding a used condom. Best not toss that around, last time they tried it popped in Alex’s face.  _ A free facial! _ He’d said. Without missing a beat she’d responded,  _ all the facials you get are free _ . He wouldn’t speak to her for a full hour. (Impressive, for him.)

“You texted me first.”

“You weren’t  _ that  _ upset over it.”

“Fine, I’ll fucking cuddle you, you dick.” She wanders over to his desk, drops the condom in the trash. 

“Oh, I dick,” he says, and wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Wipe your face,” she says, tossing him a tissue box. “And do you want that plug to stay in, or...?”

“Yeah. It’s comfortable.”

“I can’t buh- _ lieve _ you.” She stresses the last syllable of believe, staggers back to where he’s collapsed on the bed. “Move over, blanket hog.”

“Oh fuck you, I’ll have you know I’m a perfect gentleman! I share my blankets with everyone equally, and don’t even get me started on -”

* * *

She leaves the room about an hour later and smiles benignly at the guy typing away outside, sitting on the floor, back against the wall. “Sexiled?” She says sympathetically. “Sorry.”

He glances up, does a double take when he sees her and the open door to his and Alex’s room. “Uh,” he says eloquently. She figures he expected a dude.  _ Oh. _ That raises the question - has Alex fucked his roommate? She shakes her head slightly, annoyed she didn’t think to ask Alex.

“You must be Burr. Pleasure.” She reaches down and squeezes his shoulder - firm grip, Burr notes faintly. Alex sure knows how to pick em - and saunters off, a particular sway to her hips visible even through the thick winter coat.

“Who was that?” Burr says, dragging his stuff into his and Alex’s shared room. 

Alex is - either a mess, or the most put together Burr has seen him ever. There’s a hickey on his jaw, and his neck, and his collarbone - there’s a lot of hickeys. He looks - not distant, but grounded, slower than he usually is. He looks like a normal person. Well, a normal person after sex. Less of a hurricane.

“Eliza,” Alex says. “Schuyler. Uh.”

“Whatever she did,” Burr says, “And  _ don’t  _ tell me what she did - tell her to keep doing it.”

Alex blushes a fierce red, but doesn’t say anything.  _ Blessed silence,  _ Burr thinks. He sets up his computer again, opens his email. Deliberates for a second before - “Dear Eliza Schuyler…”

**Author's Note:**

> askdjfsa sin   
> just created a fanfic tumblr - [the-girlnightwing](http://the-girlnightwing.tumblr.com/),,, come bother me  
> should i continue this? i could. but would people read it tho


End file.
